


Under Our Blanket Skies

by littlemel



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Brotherly Love, Brothers, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-27
Updated: 2015-01-27
Packaged: 2018-03-09 07:57:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3242132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlemel/pseuds/littlemel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He still wakes up every day wondering how this is his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under Our Blanket Skies

**Author's Note:**

> First [Gerard Way was adorable on the internet again](http://mychemicalromance.com/blog/gerard/f-berry), and then someone said WRITE IT, and well, here we are. Title from "Galapogos" by The Smashing Pumpkins. Thanks to [](http://fleurdeliser.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://fleurdeliser.livejournal.com/)**fleurdeliser** for the beta! Originally posted February 8, 2009.

"Every fucking time, man."

Mikey shakes his head, eyes on the windows. Fat raindrops pelt the glass, blurring out the backyard.

Gerard doesn't mind the rain. The way it mutes everything and makes people hunch in when they walk reminds him of Jersey. Seems only right that it happens whenever the five of them get together out here. And besides, it's nice to have some actual _weather_ once in a while.

"I know. But it's good, though." Gerard looks up at the grey sky and twirls his spoon between his fingers. "We start a record and it rains. It's like, our thing, you know?"

"I guess," Mikey says, shoveling more cereal into his mouth.

Gerard reaches for his coffee, almost knocking over the Rumor. He rights her, then picks up Number Five, turning the figure over in his hands, inspecting it. He's lost count of how many times he's done this, but it doesn't matter. He still wakes up every day wondering how this is his life. How he got everything he wanted, and a thing or two he didn't even know he did.

He looks over at Mikey, huddled over his bowl, spoon dripping pink milk. It's every rainy Saturday morning when they were kids, sitting across from each other at the kitchen table with an army of action figures between them. Gerard would do the voices and Mikey would sometimes laugh so hard milk came out his nose.

Now it's Friday afternoon and they're sitting in Gerard's kitchen on the opposite side of the country, both of them with rings on their fingers, and two years ago the toy in Gerard's hand was still just a sketch in his notebook. Amazing.

He sets Number Five next to his bowl, standing guard. "I can't believe you brought me fucking Frankenberry," he says. It's not really true.

"I can't believe you were gonna order it from Amazon. All I had to do was go to the A&P." Mikey's little-brother grin flashes around the edge of his mug. "I'm just saying."

Gerard rolls his eyes. "You're not gonna start giving me shit about moving back to Jersey, are you?"

"Nah, I'll leave that to Frank."

"And Ma. I love her, but _god_ , she's relentless."

Mikey's shoulder twitches up in a half-shrug. "They just miss you. You're the only one who answers Frank's midnight diner calls. And, you know, first grandkid for Mom and Dad. Of course they want to be able to show up unannounced every weekend."

Gerard snorts into his coffee. "Yeah, no kidding."

"And it wouldn't suck having you back home," Mikey says, his mouth tucking up again when he catches Gerard's eye. "But it's your call to make, man. I know you guys really like it out here."

Gerard nods. Mikey probably knows better than anyone how much Gerard wanted to get out of Jersey; it'll always be home, but it's got a way of digging its claws into you, and it took Gerard a long time to unhook them. And he and Lindsey love this house. They only just bought it. They weren't looking to move again any time soon.

Then again, they weren't looking to become parents yet, either. But they're already more than halfway there; just a few months to go. Gerard's stomach flips.

"Mikey?"

"Hm?"

"I'm gonna be someone's _dad_. How did that _happen_?"

"Well, Gerard, I'm glad you asked that." Mikey steeples his fingers under his chin. "See, when a boy and a girl like each other a whole lot-"

Gerard kicks him under the table. "C'mon, I'm being serious."

"Okay, first, _ow_." Mikey kicks back, twice as hard. Gerard jerks away with a laugh, shaking out the sting. "Second..." Mikey gestures between their bowls with his spoon, splattering milk on Seance, The Kraken, and the table. "We're eating fucking monster cereal and playing with toys from _your_ comic. We are not grown-ups, Gee, I promise."

Of course Mikey gets it. He's Mikey. Gerard holds out his pinky. "Pinky swear?"

"I rest my case," Mikey says, but hooks his pinky through Gerard's, squeezing hard before letting go.

The wind shifts and the rain pounds harder against the house, white-noise thump on the roof. Gerard reaches for his phone and snaps a picture of Mikey looking out the window, spoon halfway to his mouth. Bed-headed and bleary-eyed, and Gerard's heart catches somewhere between his chest and the back of his throat. Mikey's always said Gerard's a good big brother, and Gerard thinks he has been, mostly. He can only hope it'll make him a better dad.

"Did you just take a picture of me?" Mikey asks.

Gerard turns the phone around so Mikey can see it. "You look about twelve."

Mikey makes a face. "Don't post that." He sticks the spoon from his cereal into his coffee and slurps the last of the sugary milk right from the bowl. "Ever."

"Aw, c'mon," Gerard teases. He won't, but what kind of big brother would he be if he didn't give Mikey a little shit over it first, right?

"No. Post a picture of your cereal and share your deep personal thoughts on the ideal cereal-puff-to-marshmallow ratio or something." Mikey pushes back from the table. "I'm gonna shower."

Gerard smiles down at his bowl and picks up his phone again, frames the shot as Mikey put his dishes in the dishwasher. It looks like Number Five is eyeballing his marshmallows. Gerard always tries to save them for last, but he never makes it. He grabs one with his fingers and pops it in his mouth, crunching thoughtfully. Three-to-one, he thinks, would be a good cereal-to-marshmallow ratio. He probably _could_ write a whole blog about this.

He brings up the blog app on his phone, but all he types is _Franken-awesome_ and a thanks to Xavier. Creative energy's too fickle, and he wants to save it for the studio. He's got that twisty feeling in his gut, like something huge and amazing is about to happen. It hasn't been wrong yet.


End file.
